


Banquet for Two at the Cathedral of the Deep

by drainoctane



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Belly Kink, Dominance, Feeding Kink, Food Kink, M/M, Power Play, Roughness, Slime, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 04:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20717765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drainoctane/pseuds/drainoctane
Summary: Aldrich narrowed his eyes beneath the twisted half-mask.  “I still don’t understand.”  His elbows rested on the tabletop, and his fingers wove together under his cheek.  He studied Sulyvahn’s plate where it sat nearby.  Every day, at least twice, the pontiff would come and sit for all of fifteen minutes, hardly look at his plate, and leave once the piddling amount of food on it was gone.  “It’s like a chore.”“I have more important things to do.”  Sulyvahn’s voice had the slightest edge of annoyance in it.  He wasn’t sure what to make of Aldrich’s newfound interest in his eating habits, outside of irrepressible distaste for the knowledge that whatever was left of Aldrich’s most recent batch of sacrifices was temporarily sharing a dining room with him.Aldrich folded his arms and rested his head on the table.  “Therearen’tmore important things.”





	Banquet for Two at the Cathedral of the Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Have some SHAMELESS AND MERITLESS Aldrich/Sulyvahn stuffing bullshit, prompted by @sexecutioneralfred. Warnings for feedism, belly kink, stuffing, power play, dubcon (?) (dub-dubcon?), roughness, tsundere Sulyvahn, what seemed at first to be a cute fic devolving into weird domination stuff, and refusal on the part of the author to ignore that a solid 85% of Aldrich is slug butt.

Aldrich narrowed his eyes beneath the twisted half-mask. “I still don’t understand.” His elbows rested on the tabletop, and his fingers wove together under his cheek. He studied Sulyvahn’s plate where it sat nearby. Every day, at least twice, the pontiff would come and sit for all of fifteen minutes, hardly look at his plate, and leave once the piddling amount of food on it was gone. “It’s like a chore.”

“I have more important things to do.” Sulyvahn’s voice had the slightest edge of annoyance in it. He wasn’t sure what to make of Aldrich’s newfound interest in his eating habits, outside of irrepressible distaste for the knowledge that whatever was left of Aldrich’s most recent batch of sacrifices was temporarily sharing a dining room with him.

Aldrich folded his arms and rested his head on the table. “There aren’t more important things,” he sighed, mentally counting down the time until his legion of followers returned to him. His lips curled at the mere thought. “You run around putting plans in motion to the ends of the earth and back, and that’s all you eat? The deacons eat more than you, and they’re half as tall at best.” Something in Aldrich’s voice – maybe the bit of Gwyndolin in it – sounded concerned.

Sulyvahn could hear Aldrich’s lower body moving beneath the table, which wasn’t helping him accrue evidence against the other man’s insinuations about his eating habits. “I don’t know that your theories on the matter of diet can be applied to other people.” He picked up his plate, still with a small portion of food on it – which prompted an indignant noise from Aldrich – and made a hasty retreat.

Fortunately, the saint left him alone at his meals for a couple of days after that. Sulyvahn figured it was just a coincidental happenstance, perhaps a time conflict with Aldrich’s own feedings. It wasn’t too long, however, before Aldrich barged uninvited into his study with a disconcerting look on the visible half of his face.

“Sulyvahn,” he addressed in a grating, deliberately sweet tone. “I’ve made arrangements for dinner.”

The pontiff’s shoulders fell, knowing what Aldrich meant even as he prayed to be wrong. “Don’t you usually?”

“Not for me, Pontiff,” Aldrich replied, his voice veering devious. “I figured you could use a break from worrying about such mundane things.”

Sulyvahn stood still, his brows knitting behind his mask. “Aldrich, I don’t –”

“Attendance is mandatory,” Aldrich pronounced, already looking very pleased with himself. He petted Sulyvahn’s hair with one slight hand, and pulled his body back through the doorway, still facing Sulyvahn as he did. “I’ll see you this evening, Pontiff.”

A thousand protests wedged themselves in the gate to Sulyvahn’s mouth, leaving him speechless as Aldrich slithered out of sight. Of course he’d left the door open.

A knock sounded at Sulyvahn’s door as his candles burned low. He sighed and set down his work. The thought occurred to him that he could torment the poor deacon on the other side by giving no answer, but he knew it would be futile. “Yes?”

“Esteemed Pontiff,” replied a deacon’s nervous voice through the door, “your presence is requested in the dining hall.” There was shuffling of robes, as if he were trying to decide whether it were wise to open it.

Sulyvahn opened it himself, staring down at the heads of _several_ deacons – enough, he determined, to carry him out by force had the need arisen. He strode through the center of them as they wedged themselves against the walls to make way, and pressed onward toward whatever Aldrich had prepared for him.

The pontiff was confused and delighted to find Aldrich resting politely against a wooden chair, an empty place setting at the opposite end for himself, and an array of foods that had certainly once been common plants or animals.

“Oh,” he remarked in genuine surprise, walking around the table to pull out his chair, inspecting the dishes as he went. “This looks quite nice, Aldrich.”

Aldrich beamed, and rose to plate a little bit of each for Sulyvahn. “I knew you’d like it.” The portions he served were a bit on the large side, but Sulyvahn refused to complain about a scenario in which Aldrich had arranged a perfectly acceptable dinner. “Here you are, loyal Pontiff,” he offered adoringly. “An actual meal.”

There was more meat on the plate than Sulyvahn would have taken for himself, but it didn’t surprise him – this was Aldrich, after all. The last thing he wanted was to discourage good behavior, so he obligingly took a bite, and found it very well prepared. The vegetables, too, were delicious. He doubted Aldrich had had any hand in their preparation, but the gesture was truly kind.

“This is wonderful,” Sulyvahn praised, looking up at Aldrich between eager bites. Perhaps the saint had a point about his lacking self-care. He couldn’t help noticing, though, that Aldrich was sitting there without a plate of his own. “Won’t you try any?”

“Ah.” Aldrich shifted in his seat, endearingly awkward about the question. “You see, I’ve already eaten.”

Sulyvahn couldn’t stifle a snort at the flimsy excuse, although the meaning was clear. “I understand.” He supposed he didn’t mind if all Aldrich wanted was to be sure that Sulyvahn enjoyed what he’d done.

Aldrich smiled from across the table, and sat calmly while Sulyvahn ate. He changed his posture a few times – hands in lap, leaning on the armrest, leaning on the table – as though trying to stave off impatience at how long it took the pontiff to eat. Sulyvahn offered compliments on things he particularly liked – the bread was outstanding, although it seemed like it had taken longer to prepare than just the time that had passed since Aldrich had informed Sulyvahn of his plans.

Finally, the pontiff laid his silverware on the plate and leaned back comfortably in his tall chair. “Well, thank you very much, dear Saint, for the lovely dinner.”

Aldrich was still for a moment, no reaction showing on his face. A few seconds passed. “You mean you’re finished?”

Sulyvahn thought about it for a moment. Aldrich had seemed worried that he ate too little, and he figured it couldn’t hurt to humor him, especially with such a lavish spread laid out. “I suppose tonight I could have a little more.”

He started to push back his chair, but Aldrich moved faster. “No need,” he said with an elated smile that showed all his unsettling teeth. “Allow me.”

The pontiff was helpless to intervene as Aldrich piled his plate with a second, equal helping of everything on offer. “Thank you,” he replied as Aldrich set the plate back in front of him and returned to his seat. He couldn’t turn down more of the delicious roasted vegetables, or the tart, salty soup Aldrich had pushed toward him in a bowl nearly overflowing.

Notwithstanding how delicious all the food was, Sulyvahn felt quite full after second helpings of his favorites among the dishes, and leaned back again, leaving his plate half-empty.

Aldrich noticed Sulyvahn’s posture and stood up, noticing the food still remaining in front of the pontiff as he made his way around the table. He sank down to kneeling height, bones clicking against the floor. “Hmm. It seems you like the vegetables best.”

“I did,” Sulyvahn confirmed, grinning at Aldrich. “I’ll have to remember them in case you decide to do this again.” He reached up as though to pull his mask down over his face, only to find Aldrich’s hand in the way.

“If you like them so much,” Aldrich asked in a honeyed voice, “why stop?”

Sulyvahn sighed. He should have known where this was going.

Aldrich rose up again, arching over the table to grab the dish of vegetables and setting it near the pontiff. He picked up Sulyvahn’s fork and speared a chunk of squash.

“Open,” purred the half-familiar voice from above. “I’m not allowing this to go to waste.”

“Aldrich, why don’t we just –” he quickly found his speech obstructed by squash.

“Shh.” Aldrich dragged the tines of the fork over Sulyvahn’s lower lip and took it back to seek out some asparagus. “When was the last time you really indulged that miserly appetite of yours?” The saint ran a hand over Sulyvahn’s midsection. “Have you ever?” The forkful of asparagus found its way to Sulyvahn’s lips just as he opened his mouth to protest.

Sulyvahn sat back for a moment, using the time allotted to him to chew in order to devise a plan of escape – or rather, consider whether such an attempt would be worth the hassle. Part of his mind, much to the chagrin of the rest of it, agreed with Aldrich. Perhaps indulging vicariously through a god-slaying creature might not be sufficient to quiet his baser desires.

Then again, he feared Aldrich might interpret success with the much-depleted dish of vegetables as an invitation to try to feed him everything else on the table. Whenever the issue arose with Aldrich of how much it was acceptable for a person to eat before moving on to other activities, it was impossible to tell how much of his obliviousness was caused by so many years of relentless devouring, and how much was deliberate mischief-making.

Aldrich’s impatience flared, and he pressed more vegetables against Sulyvahn’s lips with a self-satisfied smirk. “No argument in opposition? That’s nice.” He pressed the fingertips of his unoccupied hand into the fabric of the pontiff’s robes where they draped over his stomach and, with what seemed to Aldrich agonizing patience, cleared the dish of vegetables bit by bit.

The saint’s temporary departure to seek out another dish gave Sulyvahn a moment of rest. His stomach was starting to ache, but it was more of a persistent discomfort than true pain. “Take a few deep breaths, if you would, Pontiff.” Aldrich sounded eminently amused. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

It didn’t seem like a bad idea to relax, if Aldrich was intent on keeping him here. Sulyvahn drew in a breath, finding it impeded somewhat by the fullness of his stomach. His skin felt too tight on his body – more so the deeper he breathed.

When Aldrich returned, it was with mashed potatoes – a well-executed, if unremarkable dish in contrast with some of the others. Sulyvahn could feel Aldrich’s formless lower body twisting around the legs of the chair, and see the flashing of his eyes beneath his headpiece. “I hope you’re as hungry as I am.”

“Impossible,” Sulyvahn muttered. Aldrich held an intimidatingly large spoonful of potatoes at the ready. The pontiff opened his mouth for them before he realized what he’d done.

Aldrich wore a wicked grin as he extracted the spoon from Sulyvahn’s mouth and refilled it, dragging his fingers over the sides of Sulyvahn’s waist. The pontiff felt a surprising heaviness even there, after all this food. Still, his lips parted for more. The quiet ringing of the spoon against the ceramic bowl in the otherwise silent room was hypnotizing, and the pressure and caresses of Aldrich’s long fingers lulled him into a rhythm. Before he knew it, the potatoes, too, were gone.

“You’re looking tired,” Aldrich teased, circling Sulyvahn as the pontiff slumped in his chair. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown bored awaiting the main course.”

He watched Aldrich approach the roast pheasant that sat at the center of the table and lay hands on the metal tray. “You’re mad,” Sulyvahn panted, “if you think I’m eating all of that.” He straightened himself in the chair as best he could, shocked to find himself so heavy. He tentatively touched his stomach. It began a good few inches before he was expecting it to. “Gods, Aldrich.”

The saint laughed almost cruelly. “Very well, Pontiff.” He twisted a leg off the bird and returned to Sulyvahn’s side. “A shame, though. How I’d love to share all my meals with you.” He dug his long nails into the flesh and pressed a piece of it against Sulyvahn’s lips, fingers pushing their way past Sulyvahn’s teeth.

The flavor of it was rich, almost unbearably so. He didn’t know how Aldrich’s body ever held so much of it. But he chewed and swallowed it promptly, groaning softly at the further addition to his already overburdened stomach, so the saint would feed him more.

Aldrich repositioned himself behind Sulyvahn, long hair falling forward, holding the bone up against the pontiff’s mouth and digging his fingers into the overstretched skin of Sulyvahn’s belly. “There. Grant me the pleasure of watching you tear flesh with your teeth, this time.”

The pontiff writhed, twisting his back under the foreign pressure. He figured his own brutality was better displayed in more complex forms than aimless mutilation, but the saint’s voice was too sweet to refuse. He ripped at the meat as viciously as he could with his blunt teeth, earning more gentle caresses from Aldrich for his efforts. He felt Aldrich’s slime against his bare legs as the saint drew in closer to him. Slowly, but with enough dramatic twisting of his neck and assiduous gnawing at the last of the meat that clung to the bone to justify slowness to Aldrich, Sulyvahn stripped it bare.

“You deserve a few minutes’ rest,” said Aldrich, sliding across the floor to gaze at Sulyvahn from various angles, crawling his long fingers across Sulyvahn’s stomach. He placed the pheasant bone in his own mouth and swallowed it seemingly without thinking. “Partly because watching you eat is driving me mad.”

Sulyvahn was unable to dignify Aldrich’s antagonistic display with the usual distaste. The pressure of Aldrich’s touch – and, gods, his other hand as well, now – drove a low moan out of Sulyvahn’s tired throat. He straightened himself in the chair, feeling the strange weight of his meal pull at the muscles of his back.

He recalled instances when – by choice or otherwise – he had borne witness to Aldrich’s own meals, if his shameless devouring could be veiled with such a polite term. Now that he thought about it, Aldrich had always, _always_ delighted in eating, even so long ago when he had tried to deny it to himself. When he had a mouth, it grinned as he filled it with flesh and blood, and for hours after. Even without the clear indications of which a human form was capable, something in Aldrich’s manner had spoken of the pleasure he took from the sacrifices offered to him. Now, of course, he was more vocal than ever in his, so to speak, expressions of gratitude.

Perhaps the pontiff’s mind was clouded by Aldrich’s insistent physical attention, but he feared he was beginning to understand the saint’s gluttony.

At some point, while Sulyvahn was distracted, Aldrich had managed, with his terrible reach, to pull the platter across the table such that it sat where the artfully arranged place setting had before, scant inches from where Sulyvahn sat. The aroma of the unfortunate pheasant, its seasonings as well as its insistently warm meat, hung in the air. Against all odds, after so much uncharacteristic indulgence, it didn’t turn the pontiff’s stomach. If anything, it seemed less of an undertaking now that he saw it up close.

Aldrich had pushed the twisted golden mask back from his eyes, the better to watch. “This must be that look in my eyes that so reliably makes you look away,” Aldrich teased. The saint’s own eyes were fixed on Sulyvahn, and his bared teeth made him look disquietingly predatory. “Do one last favor for me, loyal Pontiff, so I can leave you to your work.”

“Don’t, Aldrich.” Sulyvahn’s voice made it clear which act he intended to reject.

The saint took a cloth napkin from the table and positioned himself behind Sulyvahn, draping it over the pontiff’s shoulder. Before Sulyvahn had time to speculate its use, he found his wrists twisted behind his back, and the napkin binding them together. Sulyvahn cried out, mostly in surprise, as Aldrich fastened a secure knot in it – not painful, exactly, but tight enough to render escape unlikely.

“Breathe easy, Sulyvahn.” Aldrich moved to the other side of the chair, and farther, and Sulyvahn could feel him twining around his ankles. Aldrich leaned over the table, facing Sulyvahn, palms flat against the dark wood. “Repeat after me.” Aldrich’s head dipped low. With a startling lack of effort, his teeth sank into the bird from the side opposite Sulyvahn, and tore away skin and flesh, which promptly disappeared down Aldrich’s throat. “That is, do your best.”

Sulyvahn was short of breath at the sight, owing in part to the way his arms behind him pressed his groaning belly into his lap. “I draw the line,” he panted, “at choking on roast pheasant.”

Aldrich rolled his shoulders. “We can’t all be so talented. Chew if you must.” He pulled himself back in that fascinatingly inhuman way, and leaned against the side of Sulyvahn’s chair, teasing the pontiff’s much-abused stomach with his fingernails. “But let me pretend for a moment that I share this inexhaustible appetite with you.”

There was something differently troubling about Aldrich’s voice, something old and bottomless, and it bent Sulyvahn forward to press his lips and the edges of his teeth against what, in essence, was a sacrifice to him. He opened his mouth wide, for leverage, and closed his eyes as he pushed his teeth through the brittle skin. Aldrich’s palm flattened against him, and his fingertips pressed so torturously in. Warm, undefined flesh pulsed against the skin of Sulyvahn’s legs – he prayed silently that Aldrich would not forget his investment in leaving them whole.

He thought of Aldrich’s face – the face of the cleric possessed by the Deep, the face of the god desecrated by depraved hunger. He opened his mouth again after each labored swallow. He ruminated on the motion of the tormented cleric’s spine, the liquid undulation of the formless body, the rise and fall of Aldrich’s chest as air and meat vied for space within him. All the while, Aldrich’s hands grasped and kneaded him as though they were hungry for him. Surely he didn’t feel quite the same, but he was driven onward until his teeth scraped at bones, no matter where they landed.

Aldrich spent a long moment admiring Sulyvahn. The meat sat so heavily in the Pontiff’s belly, the heaviest of all that rested there. The saint’s hands clung like claws to Sulyvahn’s vestments, and his body – all of it – was quite still as he listened to Sulyvahn’s breathing.

At length, Aldrich rose, dragging his hands over Sulyvahn’s body as he did, and retreated toward the other side of the table. For a split second, the idea flashed through the pontiff’s mind that Aldrich was through with him. But he watched Aldrich pour out broth into his empty bowl and carry it back to him, cupped in his long fingers, and realized his wrists were still bound behind his back.

The saint approached with the same shadowed look in his eyes, the same humorless array of teeth, until his body pressed against Sulyvahn’s. He carefully shifted the weight of the bowl into one hand and took Sulyvahn’s jaw in the other, turning the pontiff’s head in his hand like a gemstone. “You won’t spill any, will you?” The edge of his thumbnail bit into Sulyvahn’s cheek, where his back teeth met.

Sulyvahn opened his mouth tentatively, acutely aware of the presence of Aldrich above him, below him, at his feet, slithering between the legs of his chair. Aldrich twisted his hand, sliding two fingers between Sulyvahn’s lips and over his teeth, roughly yanking them down like fishhooks.

“I know you won’t.” Aldrich replaced his invading fingers with the lip of the bowl against Sulyvahn’s lip. One short, pleading sound made its way out of Sulyvahn’s throat before Aldrich tipped the bowl toward him, slow but relentless.

The pontiff swallowed like a drowning man, unwilling to breathe until Aldrich was satisfied that he’d obeyed. His back arched as if trying to slow the motion of the liquid into his mouth, and his stomach pressed against the insides of his thighs, and the bowl gradually emptied its warm contents into him, its lacquered walls scraping against his teeth.

Aldrich lay it on the table and buried his head in the crook of Sulyvahn’s neck, suddenly gentle but for the sharp-edged teeth in his kisses. He slid his hands behind Sulyvahn to untie the napkin, unraveling himself from chair and legs as he did. Sulyvahn felt the binds loosen, and leaned forward as slightly as he could to pull his arms around. Aldrich leaned back to watch Sulyvahn rest his hands on his belly, to take in the pontiff’s whole reaction. He patted Sulyvahn’s face with the napkin. “I’m impressed.” His eyes were still wild, and the palm of his free hand pressed against Sulyvahn’s belly from below.

Sulyvahn, by way of response, sank back into the chair, eyes closed tight as he willed the roiling of his stomach to cease. He moaned before he could speak, and grimaced at the thought that Aldrich might dare continue. “That was… uncalled for.”

“I called for it.” Aldrich flung the napkin over his shoulder and moved back a little more. He grinned, still, eyes roving up and down Sulyvahn’s exhausted form. “Can you stand?”

The pontiff dreaded the attempt, but he knew Aldrich wouldn’t leave him alone until he did. “Give me a moment.” Aldrich’s position didn’t change, his fingers slowly stroking, his eyes anticipatory.

Sulyvahn took a few breaths, deep as he dared, running his thumbs along the sides of his stomach. By the time he’d made himself suitably comfortable, Aldrich was all but pacing the floor. “Fine.” He inched forward on the chair. Aldrich offered the hand that had been caressing him, but Sulyvahn planted both hands on the arms of the chair and stood up on his own.

He almost immediately leaned on Aldrich as he got to his feet. The feeling of so much foreign weight shifting with gravity as he stood was new to Sulyvahn. The standing position accentuated the insistent aching of his skin and abdominal muscle as much as it did the bulge of his stomach beneath his robe. His voice betrayed him, turning the odd shallow breath into a more vulnerable sound.

Aldrich gazed at him for a few seconds from a short distance away, eyes torn between the pontiff’s stomach and his face. Then he languidly pressed himself against Sulyvahn’s back, hands slipping under Sulyvahn’s to press against his belly. “What a fine devourer you make,” he murmured in his sweet, dark voice.

Sulyvahn couldn’t bear the attention for too long – it was all too much for him at once. “If you’re finished with me, I have things to do,” he said thinly, his back nonetheless leaning against the saint as he offered adoration.

He felt Aldrich sigh and shift backward, leaving Sulyvahn on his own two feet, palms and fingers still resting against the pontiff. “If you must.”

Sulyvahn took a few steps forward to remove himself from Aldrich’s reach, not daring to look over his shoulder. He was wary that any perceived second thoughts might be taken as an invitation.

The pontiff braced one hand against the wall as soon as he reached it, and unsteadily plodded back to his study with Aldrich on his heels. He closed the door behind him, mumbling something about how behind he was in his work, and sat uncomfortably at his desk.

Aldrich, for his part, waited in the hall for the door to open. For all that he wanted to leave and attend to his sacrifices, he knew it was only a matter of time.


End file.
